


willow-bound

by Misthios



Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-29
Updated: 2018-10-29
Packaged: 2019-08-09 12:09:18
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,781
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16449683
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Misthios/pseuds/Misthios
Summary: A week later, she is back amongst the Petrified Islands. Kassandra makes some excuse about a damaged hull or restocking, and if she looks at the map sideways and squints, Chios is the closest island.The crew scatter, off to spend their wages, and Kassandra sits on the edge of the Adrestia, legs hanging off the side. Returning to the island is a bad enough idea, and heading north will leave her in an unmarked grave. Kassandra looks at the spear at her hip and frowns. So much of her life has spelt certain death for her, but if being thrown from a mountain didn’t stop her, this might not, either.





	willow-bound

    Kassandra marches back to the Adrestia, bellows orders before the crew can stand to attention, and cleaves through the first ship that dares to share the seas with them. It is Athenian, or Spartan, or neither. It doesn’t matter. It is at the bottom of the Aegean now, flames and spoils along with it.

    She loses momentum, after that. The sky above is unusually, unbearably clear, and not a single cloud has the decency to shield her from Apollo.

    She sprawls across the deck, arms stretched out, spear half-heartedly gripped in one hand. The Adrestia drifts along at the waves’ behest, no destination caught in the sails. 

    The crew pretends to think nothing of it.  
    All of them but Barnabas.

    He stands above Kassandra, hands on his hips, ready to dispense his usual brand of rambling wisdom about the gods deciding it is a fine day to take stock of the sky.

    “Kassandra! You set sail before I could welcome you back,” he says. “You returned without the pelts. Surely Artemis smiles upon you today!”

    “Artemis is laughing at me,” Kassandra grumbles. “Or scheming against me.”

    “That doesn’t sound like her. Did I ever tell you about the time—”

    “Probably.”

    “Oh. Well. We best set a course, Commander! Where to? We could head to Mykonos. If anyone is in need of the Silver Islands, it’s you.”

    Kassandra considers it for as long as it takes the ship to crest a bump of a wave.

    “I would not put this upon Kyra,” she says. “She already has enough to worry about without strange women and their strange, archaic traditions.”

    Barnabas claps his hands together.

    “Are you going to tell me what this is about, Eagle Bearer? I think you want to tell me what this is about. You were always so happy when you returned from the temple in Phokis. What was so different about Chios?”

    Kassandra grinds her teeth together, but even Barnabas’ cloudy eye is staring into her.

    “It’s just,” she begins, bolting upright. “You think you are getting to know a person! So often all people want from a misthios is a solution to whatever problem has been nagging at them since dawn! Fetch me herbs! Skin a wolf! Assassinate this Athenian Captain for me!”

    Barnabas rubs his chin, nodding.

    “I do not think your experiences ring true throughout the entire Greek world, but continue.”

    “They have use for a misthios, not me. Any could take up the contract and get the same result. A child could do most of it!”

    “Again, I think you underestimate yourself, Kassandra.”

    “I could do it as a child. But there is no—no heart in it. But with this task, with Daphnae, I knew that while so many had taken the challenge, only I could complete it. And Daphnae did, too. Each time I returned to her with the skin of some creature the size of Olympus, I saw in her eyes that she believed I would do the impossible and hunt every creature Artemis had blessed. But in the end, it is, it is—”

    Barnabas raises his brow, waiting for Kassandra to find the words.

    “It is shit,” she settles on, stabbing her spear into the deck. “Fuck!”

    Barnabas winces as though he’s been struck, but takes a breath, reminding himself it isn’t his ship, anymore. He lowers himself slowly to the deck, sitting cross-legged next to Kassandra.

    “Kassandra! You are loved by so many, all across islands and oceans!” he says. “Whatever this woman has said or done, whatever has happened between you, I am certain your natural charm will—”

    “She will kill me,” Kassandra interrupts. “If I return, the Daughters of Artemis will kill me. She wanted me to kill her, Barnabas. Part of me thinks it would have been the kinder thing to do. Gods! Fucking worshippers of the fucking hunt!”

    Barnabas can only listen, one hand on Kassandra’s shoulder. The man has taken in more than a lifetime of revelations lately, from the Cult to Atlantis, but this has him stumped.

    “Well,” he eventually says. “No one has killed you yet, have they? I will take the helm for a while, Kassandra. Perhaps taking down one of Xenia’s rival’s vessels will put a smile back on your face.”

*

    A week later, she is back amongst the Petrified Islands. Kassandra makes some excuse about a damaged hull or restocking, and if she looks at the map sideways and squints, Chios is the closest island.

    The crew scatter, off to spend their wages, and Kassandra sits on the edge of the Adrestia, legs hanging off the side. Returning to the island is a bad enough idea, and heading north will leave her in an unmarked grave. Kassandra looks at the spear at her hip and frowns. So much of her life has spelt certain death for her, but if being thrown from a mountain didn’t stop her, this might not, either.

    More justifications rattle around her head. Enough to get her to the village along the Hunted Forest of Artemis, under the cloak of darkness, path illuminated by the frustratingly full moon. Most of the Daughters of Artemis are sleeping, ready to rise with the dawn and begin the hunt anew, and Kassandra crouches between the trees, eyes flitting from building to building as Ikaros searches out Daphnae.

    It doesn’t take long. A few minutes in and he’s circling the central building, nothing but darkness biting at the windows.  
    “Thank you, my friend,” she says as he drifts back, holding out an arm for him. “But you must sit this one out. Go. Back to the Adrestia.”

    Ikaros tilts his head to the side, but Kassandra turns from his concern. With a chirp, he sets off through the trees. Kassandra doubts he’ll go far, but pretends he isn’t waiting in the forest, pretends that she’s alone.

    “Now or never,” she whispers.  
    The village is clear, but all that could change if she wastes another minute on hesitance. Kassandra keeps low to the ground, darting through the long grass where she can, and makes it to Daphnae’s quarters without any of the Daughters of Artemis knocking an arrow through her shoulder.

    The windows are small and square, barely big enough to fit her head through. Deciding she isn’t risking her life only to run at the first inconvenience, Kassandra mutters fuck it, and makes for the door. It opens, doesn’t groan on its hinges. It’s easy. Too easy. They must have been expecting her return, never one to turn away from a challenge; they should’ve been patrolling the village and forest alike, looking for a woman who could slay towering beasts, but not a mortal, dressed in cloth, not armour. 

    It’s all too easy, until she’d stood over Daphnae, sleeping on her low bed.

    Kassandra left much of her own armour behind, knowing it would clatter, waking Daphnae and giving her away. Now that she stands there, she doesn’t know what to do, doesn’t know how she’s supposed to wake her, to explain why she’s there.

    She doesn’t know that, either.

    Luckily for her, the gods grant the prayer not yet formed in her chest, and Daphnae wakes, sensing the shadow draped over her.

    Luckily for Daphnae, she sleeps with a dagger by her bed.

    Without her chest plate, Kassandra takes the brunt of the impact as Daphnae shoves her against the back wall. She doesn’t have time to groan. The moonlight filters in, reflecting off the blade as it heads straight for her throat.

    Kassandra grabs Daphnae’s wrist, keeping the steel a hair’s breadth from her pulse, and only then does Daphnae realise who’s woken her.

    “You,” she hisses. “I told you I would kill you, if we ever met again.”

    She speaks as though it is in the distant, dead past, not a handful of days lost to the monotony of sailing.

    “I—” Kassandra says. It is the best she can do, gaze torn between the dagger and Daphnae’s eyes, each flashing with moonlight. Her spear is at her hip, but she won’t resort to that. Not yet. “You said you would kill me if I returned. Yet I am not here. Your Sisters have not seen me.”

    “Do you think my goddess does not?”

    It is in that moment, in the way Daphnae’s voice cracks, that Kassandra knows she hurts in a way that digging a blade into someone’s throat will not assuage.

    “The gods sent me here, Daphnae, but not so that I could die. Not so I could take your life,” Kassandra says, grasp loosening on Daphnae’s wrist.

    The blade does not move, either towards or away from her throat.

    “Artemis brought you to me for a reason, and you will not respect that. You will not respect my vow,” Daphnae says in a shout of a whisper. If she wanted, she could draw the other Daughters into her chambers. “And that pains me, Kassandra. You do not understand what this means to me. What I have sacrificed to live this life.”

    Kassandra’s lip twitches. She’s got this far through brute force alone, has never lost anything, has never longed for anything. Of course, of course! She is a storm, passing through the land, flooding villages and uprooting families. She is a bull, charging head-first, never asking questions, never taking stock of the pieces that fall.

    “Fine,” Kassandra says. She grabs her spear, holding it to Daphnae’s throat in a mirror image. “I will kill you, if that is what you really want. We will fight here. The first one to dig their blade deep enough is Artemis’ chosen. What happens then, Daphnae? There are no witnesses here. It would be murder, not tradition. Come morning, your girls would find your body on this floor, as good as assassinated in your sleep. Will they welcome me as their leader, then?”

    Daphnae’s eyes narrow.

    “It is a fair fight,” she says. “They could find your body here.”

    “No, Daphnae. I would win. I am not scared! I did not walk away because I am a fucking coward,” Kassandra hisses.

    Daphnae holds her gaze and lowers her dagger, one point taken. It is not tradition for these things to be done in the dark, no witnesses, no wagers made.

    “That is your problem,” Daphnae says, pushing Kassandra’s spear-wielding arm back. “You think this is all about you. That it hurts only you. That the goddess has never before asked for a sacrifice to be made. What of Iphigenia? Do you really think your fate worse than hers?”

    “I do not care for Artemis, or her grudges over stags,” Kassandra says, pushing her back.

    Daphnae goes with the motion, taking wide strides away from her.

    “What is it then, Kassandra? Why are you here? Do you not think it has been hard enough to forget your face?”

    Kassandra grips her spear until her knuckles turn white.

    “It is because—because I… I want to talk.”

    “So, talk. We clearly are not going to get anywhere by killing one another.”

    Kassandra passes the spear from hand to hand, and everything that churned within her head on the journey there falls silence. There is only a stale thrumming, the start of a headache, only one thing she can make herself say.

    “You deceived me,” she snaps.

    It hangs in the air. Daphnae holds out her hands, gesturing for her to continue.

    Composure becomes her. Kassandra forgets she wanted to kill her, seconds ago.

    “I… these beasts, these great challenges. You let me fell them, let me overcome them, and each time I returned, there were—not promises, but the implication of…” Kassandra draws in a deep breath, shoulders rising. “I was under the impression I was doing it for you.”

    “Kassandra,” Daphnae says softly. “You came to the Temple of Artemis in Phokis and met the leader of the Daughters of Artemis. You accepted the challenge. You must have known it was for the goddess. Anything I said, anything I implied, that was separate from all that.”

    “But I was doing it for you,” Kassandra argues.

    “Oh? Then you did not enjoy the hunts? You were not exhilarated by the challenges?”

    “I was! Because you had set them! I am a busy woman, Daphnae, I am trying to rescue the Greek world from forces you cannot imagine, and yet…”

    Daphnae bows her head and carefully perches on the edge of the bed. She holds a hand out to the empty space next to her, and muscles heavy, Kassandra takes a seat.

    “It was fun, at first. Hunting these great beasts, proving myself. But each time I returned with their pelts, I found myself more excited to see you than I was striking the killing blow. It is not glamorous, you know. Skinning those beasts, cleaning their furs and myself of their gore. One of them seeped poison from its every pore! Yet I could not keep away. I needed an excuse to return, and so I threw myself against all Artemis had to offer.”

    Daphnae knits her fingers together and has no resolve left to argue.

    “I kept the pelt of the Nemean Lion for myself. It was the third one you brought back to me, and it was the first time I felt something other than awe upon your return. I was relieved. I was relieved, and I knew the worst was yet to come. There were greater dangers out there, and I was sending you to face them. Do you understand what it means to feel relief to see the face of one you will face in mortal combat?” Daphnae said. “It was not the first time I kissed you, but it was the first time it meant something more.”

    Kassandra’s spear finds its way to the floor, next to Daphnae’s dagger. She moves not without fear, but without hesitance, hands pressing to Daphnae’s face. Her skin is cold. Kassandra’s blood burns, blotting out the bitter night.

    “See? There is something here,” Kassandra says, knowing she can’t let go, not of Daphnae or the moment. “There is something real. Tradition is not all there is in this life, Daphnae.”

    “What, then? Do you expect me to forget my vow, to turn my back on Artemis, on my Sisters, because I have let myself slip? Because I allowed my personal feelings to contend with my devotion?”

    “Daphnae!” Kassandra pleads. “Do you not see? Artemis brought me to you. You laid out the challenges, and I completed them all, I slayed beasts greater than any Athenian army of Spartan general. And I am still here! I did all this, yet I chose not to kill you. Not to take leadership. Does that not mean something? This was not a test for me, Daphnae. It was a test of your leadership. I hunted the Erymanthian boar, and still, I defer to you. To your leadership. This is where you belong, and you should not punish the both of us for it!”

    Something in Kassandra’s words reach Daphnae. Something sinks in. Daphnae takes hold of her wrists and moves her hands from her face, only to slump against Kassandra, everything in her falling slack.

    “What now, Kassandra? Where does this leave us? Daphnae asks. “You are a clever misthios indeed if you have convinced me to condemn myself in the eyes of my god.”

    “Oh, please,” Kassandra says, forcing a laugh while her heart lodges itself in her throat. “If Artemis demanded you sacrifice yourself to repent for something as trivial as love, you would gladly throw yourself upon a pyre.”

    Daphnae lets out a shaky breath. It is not the time for levity, for laughter, caught on the edge of some precipice as they are, about to step into the unknown together. Still, it helps.

    Kassandra lifts a hand, carefully places it on Daphnae’s shoulder, and pulls her close. Her breath burns in her lungs before she remembers to exhale, and it is only Daphnae’s hands on her hips that stop her shaking.

    “You are not here,” Daphnae says, closing the distance between them.

    “I am not here,” Kassandra repeats, pressing a knee to the bed between Daphnae’s legs, foreheads coming together. “Because if I returned, you would kill me.”

    “That’s right,” Daphnae murmurs, hands on the sides of Kassandra’s neck, in her hair. “It is tradition.”

    All else is lost to the kiss. Kassandra presses down, for the thought of being distinct from Daphnae for another second is worse than any punishment the gods could dream up. Her palms splay across the warm skin of her stomach, and Kassandra knows she will never again return to Chios, over and over.


End file.
